Page 38 of Ruthless Touch

…and he decided he wasn’t about to let that fly.

He was going to track down the elusive Black Silk himself.

But as I glare up at him and he glares down at me, one thing is clear: his intentions are unmistakably sinister.

This is no cat-and-mouse play like what me and Gun have engaged in. This is violent and lethal on a whole new level.

This man wants me dead. He wants to tear me apart limb from limb.

I’m not exactly in the best shape to defend myself. Not after the fight I’ve just come off of with Gun.

But what other choice do I have?

I rack my brain for potential strategies, landing on one of the most basic ones there is—keep him talking.

“Wow, you really thought I was a man this whole time? No wonder I’ve been running circles around you idiots,” I grunt, rising up on a knee. “Maybe next time I’ll wear more pink.”

His brow furrows as if confused, then he says, “You talk a big game. But you’ve let a Jeokpa track you down. Only a feeble woman doing a man’s job would make that kind of blunder. Get up and let me knock you down again. On the ground where you belong.”

“Youdidjust ambush me. Do you usually need a head start when picking on women, or am I just special?”

He bares more of his teeth and then pulls his fist back to swing. I’ve barely struggled to my feet when I’m forced to act quick and duck his flying fist.

I follow up with a forceful kick to his side, my boot connecting with the solid wall of his ribs. He stumbles back a couple steps with a grunt of surprise.

But it only stalls him for a second before he’s recovered and rushing at me.

The fight becomes a deadly routine of ducking and weaving as he throws punch after devastating punch, each one carrying enough force to cave in my skull if it connects.

I duck and dive around his swings, just trying to stay out of reach, but my body feels slower the longer the fight drags on.

Every muscle in my body aches from my earlier encounter with Gun. No part of me worse than my tender ribs that throb so intensely, it’s almost too much.

Even for me.

He swings again, a haymaker that would have taken my head off if I hadn’t spun out of the way at the last possible moment.

His fist crashes into the brick wall behind me with a sickening crunch—knuckles splitting open, blood spraying across the grimy surface—but he doesn’t seem to register the pain.

I use his momentary distraction to grab a knife from my belt and whip it at his center mass. He manages to twist away and dodge the blade.

It clatters to the wet alley floor, too far away to be of any more use.

The Jeokpa asshole charges at me like a bull rushing a matador.

This time when I try to dodge, my body betrays me. My legs are too slow, my reflexes sluggish from exhaustion and pain.

He scoops me up in his brawny arms like I weigh five pounds and hurls me to the pavement.

The impact drives what little air I have left from my lungs. Before I can even attempt to roll away, his boot connects with my ribs once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Then he moves onto my head, dealing me a harsh blow to the back of it.

Each kick sends shockwaves of agony rippling through me until I’m gasping for air, vision blurring and consciousness suddenly slipping away.

Through the haze of pain, I manage to fumble with my watch, fingers shaking as I try to activate the emergency button that’ll alert KD.

I’ve never been so desperate. I’ve never called for help before, but if I want to see another day… I have to.

For once in my life, I have to rely on somebody else?—